


Anytime You Want

by redbranch



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Band Fic, Frerard, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 20:56:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10499316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redbranch/pseuds/redbranch
Summary: After a gig, Frank and Gerard feel something finally spark backstage and can no longer keep themselves from acting on it. This should be wrong, but it feels so damn right.





	

“We are... MY! CHEMICAL!” I held out the mic and grinned like a maniac as the crowd finished _ROMANCE!_ and Ray played one last guitar riff ending on the definitive final drum as the lights abruptly went to black. We never lingered much on stage. Ray handed off his guitar to the tech and I hooked my arm around his neck as all of us booked it to the back. Ray was sweaty; I was sweaty. My hair was pasted to my neck where I was sure all of my Sharpie writing was now smeared to hell and back, but the first seconds after a show are exhilarating: a high unmatched by any drug.

All four of us collapsed in the back room. Mikey sprawled out on the floor while Ray snagged the dressing room chair. Frank and I were on separate couches. All of us were beat, but I looked at Mikey and his eyes were bright and shining. I knew all of us looked the same: dead tired but buzzing inside from the thrill of a plan coming together, from the divine fucking harmony of making music we loved on stage for people who loved it almost just as much.

And while I hung suspended on my own cloud nine, a voice burst through: “I call dibs on the shower.”

There was a cry of agony and then a, “God damn it, Ray!” from the couch beside me. Ray laughed at Frank’s dismay, unremorseful. “I’ve got fucking blood, Ray! Blood! I’m wounded.” It took a monumental effort, but I shifted my head so I could peek over the arm of the couch to look at Frank. His latest injury came from catching the side of his head on the corner of an amp during Cemetery Drive. It was dry now, crusted into a line that ran from his hairline to right above his cheekbone. It definitely made him look the part of a My Chem band member.

“That’s your problem, not mine,” Ray said, hauling himself out of his chair. “There’s no head trauma exceptions with dibs. You made it through half the set; I think you can wait fifteen more minutes.” Frank and I groaned simultaneously. Ray lingered under the delusion that he was the quickest to shower between the four of us when in fact he took the longest. His hair took forever to wash. Our protestations seemed not to matter as Ray grabbed his duffle and headed out the side door that led to the only shower in the place. 

Frank threw his arm over his face in a dramatic, Shakespearean fashion. “He’s going to take foreverrrrr,” he moaned. And then his face twisted into a grimace and he hissed through his teeth. “And this shit fucking stings.” 

I sighed and forced myself to sit up, tugging at my hair. “Come on, Frankie. I’ll fix you up at the sink and then we’ll see if we have to get an actual medical professional involved… again.” Frank looked sheepish as he recalled the Belgium shoulder dislocation debacle that went down only a month ago. Good, I thought, he should be sheepish. He’s a fucking guitarist. We needed those shoulders. 

“Thanks, Gee,” he mumbled. I stood and took his hand, hauling him to his feet. His skin still glistened with a sheen of sweat, eyeliner smeared everywhere, though he didn’t wear much on stage these days anyway. I liked seeing him like this. Frank put in so much damn effort on stage, and I loved seeing him afterwards, spent. 

I kept hold of his hand, leading him like a child to the vanity sink, where I dragged over a chair and pushed him down into it. “Sit,” I commanded, leaving his side to find my own duffel. 

A cell phone rang and I heard Mikey sigh from across the room as I rummaged through my clothes and toiletries, looking for a washcloth. “Hey, A,” I heard him say as I found what I was looking for. “No, we’re just in the back, just finished… Yeah, okay. I’ll see you.” My brother grunted as he pushed himself up to his knees, and then his feet, balancing precariously on legs that looked like toothpicks to me. “Going to see A,” he grumbled, rubbing his hand over his messy hair. His brows were pinched together. They’d been fighting lately. 

I shot him what I hoped was an encouraging look. “No problem. Have fun. Don’t forget we leave in three hours.” He nodded without looking at me as he headed toward the door, the nod of a man who had heard his brother remind him of the same thing too many times to count. He gave us a weak wave as he left, the door clicking into place behind him as I pulled up my own chair to sit in front of Frank. He had his head in his hands, elbows leaning on the sink, eyes closed. “Come on, now,” I said, pulling one of his arms down and grabbing his chin to turn his face towards me. “Gotta clean this shit.” I turned the tap on and soaked the washcloth in warm water, squeezing it out in my fist before gently scrubbing at the blood on his face. 

He opened his eyes and looked at me while I worked, sighing. “I’m sorry, Gee,” he said. “I know I get too wild sometimes.” I couldn’t help but bark out a laugh as I stroked his cheek with the washcloth. I knew he knew. He got a whole fucking guitar specially made to be as light as possible so he could be as wild as he damn well pleased. Frank who crowd surfed. Frank who shredded while writhing supine on stage. Frank who did literal somersaults, who kicked me in the balls, who dragged Mikey by the ankle across the stage. Frank who did all that shit and never missed a single chord. Yeah, he was a little wild. 

“Wouldn’t have you any other fucking way, Frank.” I put my other hand on his neck, thumb reaching up across his jaw to hold him in place while I scrubbed away the blood. I’d reached his hairline and gently pressed the cloth into his hair. He hissed in pain again, teeth reaching out to bite at his lip ring as a distraction. “Sorry,” I muttered. “It’s hard to tell on your dark hair.” I scooted closer and carefully searched for the source of the blood with the washcloth. My other hand migrated more towards the back of his neck, tilting his head closer to me. It didn’t look too bad, a small cut an inch past his hairline, and it didn’t seem to be actively bleeding anymore. Head wounds, we’d learned, had a tendency to look more dramatic than they actually were. “You should live,” I assured him. “No stitches this time.” He grinned at me as I ran the washcloth under the tap again, wringing out pink-tinged water into the sink, and I couldn’t help but smile, too. Frank’s grin was infectious. 

“Thanks.” He reached up to touch the cut and grimaced again. I smacked his hand away like my mother had so many times with me and Mikey when we were kids and picked at our scabs.

“Well don’t fucking touch it or you’ll make it worse!” I said. Okay, my mother never used language quite like that. I yanked out four paper towels from the dispenser and folded them into a small square, wiping up the side of his face before pressing it carefully to the top of the head where his cut was. He whimpered and bit at his lip ring again. “Oh don’t be a baby,” I whispered, close to his face as I tended to his wound. It was at that moment that I registered that Frank’s hand was on my thigh, only centimeters away from the rip in the inner seam of my jeans that I’d opted not to fix in the name of rock and roll grittiness. How long had it been there? Had I not noticed before? My breath came a little ragged as I pressed the towels to his skin, trying to keep my cool. We were both well aware that there was chemistry between us, but we had a long-standing unspoken agreement not to do anything about it. How many other, better bands had broken up because they fooled around with each other and then had a falling out? No, we wouldn’t do that to our band. Our band was too good for that petty shit. 

Nonetheless, we couldn’t help teasing each other, especially on stage where we left our inhibitions at the door and put everything we had out on the table for the sake of the show. I’d like to say Frank was usually the instigator, but I probably was just as guilty. The flirting, the moaning, the touching, the grabbing, even the kissing. Our bandmates never said anything about it and neither did we. It was a show, we were a rock band. It was par for the course. 

But sometimes there were moments like this, moments when it was quiet and Frank and I were in close proximity, moments when Frank looked fucking delectable and a different kind of energy surged through my veins, begging me to finally do something about it. I couldn’t be sure Frank felt the same thing in those moments, but his hand on my thigh certainly seemed to suggest that he did. 

I pulled the makeshift compress off and checked it. “No fresh blood,” I said, struggling to keep my voice steady as I threw the paper towel in the wastebasket. I leaned back away from Frank, but he leaned forward almost as if we were tethered together. 

He flicked his hair back out of his eyes and looked at me, trapping me in his gaze. His teeth still worried his lip ring, only releasing it to say again, “Thanks.”

I couldn’t help it. My body felt possessed by some other force. I loved that fucking lip ring, the jewelry and the lip beneath it now shiny and perfect from the wetness of his mouth. My hand reached out, holding his chin while my thumb ran over his lip ring. His mouth fell open slightly, his breath heavy against my finger, and I could only stare at his lips. “You said that already,” I mumbled. 

His hand reached up and closed around my wrist, long inked fingers locking me in place. The other hand squeezed my thigh, prompting me to look up at his eyes again. The blatant lust in them went right to my groin, though I also recognized curiosity, excitement, vulnerability. I felt caught. I shouldn’t have done that. I crossed our invisible line. I wanted to apologize, but I could only open my mouth stupidly as he leaned closer to me, moving his hand from my wrist, up my jacketed arm, to the side of my neck, running his thumb over the smudged Sharpie there. Today it had said, “Tell.” 

“Gee…” He was looking at me intensely, searching for something. Looking for permission to close the distance, to throw our rules out the window. I felt frozen, unable to do anything but stare back. And then I felt his fingers start to relax on my neck and thigh, his body beginning to move away. 

Again, my body moved without a conscious decision on my part. I grabbed him quickly, pulling him to me by the neck and crushing my lips against his. His reaction was instant, gripping my jacket and holding me to him hard, opening my mouth and exploring the inside of my teeth with his tongue. He pushed one of his knees between mine, the hand on my thigh moving up to my waist and grabbing a fistful of my sweat-soaked t-shirt. I held onto him for dear life. I felt like I was drowning in him. This kiss was so different from our stage antics. On stage we were both busy, only able to steal a kiss for three seconds at most, playing it up for the crowd rather than worrying about affection or pleasure. Frank and I had certainly never kissed like this, so purposefully. We had never held each other with this kind of desperation and need. Frank’s lips left mine and I wanted to protest until I felt his mouth move to my neck, sucking and licking and biting. I moaned and bucked my hips involuntarily, rubbing the bulge in my pants against his knee. I heard him let out a muffled, “Fuck,” against my skin. And then suddenly his arms were around me, hoisting me from the chair to the vanity, spreading my legs shamelessly this time to make room for himself as he continued his attack on my neck, hands quickly working to rid me of my jean jacket, which he threw across the room. 

“F-Frank,” I breathed out in a shuddering whisper. His mouth was finding some of the most sensitive spots on my neck, melting me from the inside out. I loved this. I was scared of this. I wanted this. Part of me knew this could be bad for the band, but the other part of me was hard and straining and NEEDED Frank. Needed his mouth and his tattooed hands and the hardness in his jeans that was currently pressed against me as he sought to drive me insane. 

I braced myself on the vanity, and his mouth finally left my neck, kissing my jaw, my ear, my cheek, and finally my lips again. I put one hand on his face to keep him there, but he pulled away, lips quivering and his hand once again tightly fisted in my shirt. “Fuck,” he said, voice shaking. “I just fucking want you, Gerard. I just.. I fucking need you. I’ve always wanted… I didn’t think… God, this might be such a terrible idea but I… Please, I just fucking want you. Please, can we?” His eyes flicked up to mine. Today they were on the green side of hazel. I swept my thumb across the scorpion on his neck, making him visibly shiver. I loved that I could make Frank shiver, Frank the fucking animal, the guitarist with boundless energy who could scream his fucking lungs out on lines when I couldn’t. The fact that I held him like putty in my hands, making him plead for me, both broke my heart and made me feel like a divine being. I couldn’t deny the feelings inside of me anymore. Good for the band or not, we needed this. Things had clearly reached a critical mass, and we couldn’t go ignoring them any longer lest they lead to their own kind of disaster. 

And damn it, even if it did all go south, we had a good fucking run. Better than a punk band from New Jersey could ever hope for. 

I fingered his lip ring again and slid my other hand into his hair, grabbing a handful of it as I pulled his face down to mine, my lips at his ear. “Of fucking course, Frank,” I whispered, quickly moving to administer the same attention to his neck as he had done to me, following the outlines of his tattoos. He moaned and held me tight and the rest of the encounter continued that way in a blur, both of us just as desperate for the other, pulling off clothes and yanking at hair, biting and kissing and sometimes clawing at each other’s bodies as years of pent-up sexual energy demanded immediate relief. But as haphazard and frantic as our coupling was, it brought us both what we most desired after all this time: bliss.

**Author's Note:**

> My first (and maybe only) band fic. I've been searching for fics that are more realistic, but couldn't find any, so I made my own. Hope you liked it!


End file.
